Dark Passage
by Nerweniel
Summary: In 1944, Albus Dumbledore, preparing for his battle against Grindelwald, is visited by a rather determined young lady who wants to join the expedition. ADMM. Holds references to various Classic Hollywood movies.
1. Prologue

**AN: **This fic can be read perfectly if you haven't seen any 1940s movie in your life - but if you have and you recognize a quote, do feel free to tell me so in a review ;). Enjoy!

**Dark Passage**

**Prologue: ****1943**

"She is tolerable, I suppose, but not quite handsome enough to tempt _me_." the wizard said with cold disinterest as, with a flick of his wand, he summoned another glass of Muggle champagne.

Taking a sip, he smiled at his friend.

"Besides, Armando, you know I don't enjoy balls – I never have. This is your celebration, not mine."

Armando Dippet, newly established headmaster of Hogwarts, sighed, then –with a nearly imperceptible shake of his head – merely gently led his friend away.

As they walked along one of the walls of Hogwarts' Great Hall, which, for one night, served as a ballroom, Armando cast the other wizard a small, sideway glance.

"Albus, sometimes you do astonish me." he then muttered.

"I'm fairly sure that girl heard what you said there. It wasn't the kindest way of - "

"If such remarks break her heart, Armando, then her mother shouldn't allow her out of the house yet. That goes for most young women present here, actually."

Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes shone with disapproval, almost with loathing, as he overlooked the many dancing couples in the middle of the room – and the many girls, standing at the sides, temporarily without a partner, who obviously wished nothing more than to be part of such a couple.

When he turned away again to face his friend, he noticed the look on Dippet's face and, patting his friend's shoulder, he smiled again.

"I'm sorry, Armando. I didn't mean to displease you; I know how fond you are of occasions like this… only I fear that your attempts to make me into more of a dandy are once again falling on deaf ears. I much prefer some books or an exciting game of chess to any young lady with nothing more on her mind than to marry well and - "

"Do you have any idea who she is?"

"No, I don't."

The answer had come spontaneously and, for once, devoid of irony, Armando Dippet noticed. He almost smiled, although he knew full well that the spontaneity of the answer was more due to surprise at his interference than to genuine curiosity. Still, the new Headmaster was not about to let the moment pass.

"Her mother is Caroline Garlinghouse, Plautus' youngest, the one who married a Muggle. Minerva, this girl's name is, Minerva McGonagall, and she's said to be one of the most accomplished young witches of this age."

"Good for her, then."

Albus's voice still sounded cold, but to his satisfaction, Armando noticed that his friend's eyes briefly lingered on the young woman who was still standing at the other side of the hall.

"I taught her for a few years, and while I doubt her greatest talents lay in the field of Herbology, my colleagues were impressed by her achievements. She's supposed to be quite the Transfiguration prodigy… I believe she intends to become an Animagus, surely that's got to be of interest to you?"

"I don't believe in prodigies."

"Word goes that you were one yourself."

"Hence why I don't believe in them."

Armando smiled and slightly raised his arms in a helpless gesture.

"I admit defeat, my friend. You're an incorrigible cynic."

The other wizard grinned, then raised his glass in agreement.

"I'll drink to that."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: Late summer, 1944**

The reports on the desk were, Albus Dumbledore realized, downright depressing, and with a small groan, the wizard flicked another lemon drop into his mouth. He didn't even have to look up to realize that the bag was already half empty – again.

He'd only recently gotten involved in the fight against the dark wizard Grindelwald, but he had always known that it was only a matter of time until they'd somehow stumble across his name and he would be forced to help. Their first approach had been friendly, of course, but he had realized very well that he didn't really have a choice. 

"Augustus!"

The young aide the Ministry had borrowed him walked into the room – composed as usual. It had taken Albus a while to realize that he could not really send the boy back where he'd come from on the charge that he was too efficient, but that was, he felt, exactly the problem; Augustus Robinson's eternal competence unnerved him.

"Yes, Sir?"

"I'd like some more lemon drops."

"Yes, Sir."

He'd almost been glad if the boy had complained, or if he'd sneaked away – in fact, that last option didn't sound at all disagreeable. Albus had, over the course of the years, grown used to working alone, and even if the Ministry did not share that opinion – _probably because they distrust me! _– he had not changed his.

"Also, Sir - "

"Yes?"

"There's a young woman waiting for you – she's been out there for a while now, and I told her you are busy, but she doesn't want to leave. She says she doesn't know you personally, I'm afraid she'll stay here overnight if you don't receive her."

Dumbledore frowned, ignoring the small spark of happiness he felt at the slight confusion in his perfect assistant's eyes.

"For Merlin's sake, Robinson, isn't this a Ministry anymore? We really can't waste time like this… have her thrown out!"

The younger man coughed.

"We did, Sir – it seems the girl managed to get back here three times in a row."

"Well, tell this young lady - "

"She smokes, Sir."

Albus Dumbledore stared, then tried his hardest not to burst out laughing. The look of total disapproval on his aide's young face was downright comical in its sincerity.

"So do most Muggle women, Robinson, I doubt that makes the girl a dangerous criminal. Merlin, our mystery woman gets past our guards three times in a row, and the thing that disturbs you most is, that she smokes?"

He allowed himself a small smile.

"Show her in!"

His assistant stared.

"Sir – are you sure that is wise – I mean - "

"No, no, Robinson, now I do insist on seeing this smoking vixen that even managed to throw you off your perfect balance – show her in, I say!".

To his immense satisfaction, the boy immediately scuttled out, and Dumbledore silently thanked his unknown visitor – whoever she was, she had certainly managed to break the routine, which was to him, these days, cause for decoration.

When the door opened again, a moment later, he leaned back in his chair and, finally, put down his quill, curiosity getting the best of him at last.

The girl who came in wasn't quite what he'd expected to see, and when Augustus announced her as 'Miss Minerva McGonagall', the name did not immediately ring a bell.

She was tall and very young – twenty perhaps, definitely not older than twenty-two – and she looked, for the lack of a better word, striking. Her hair was very black and fell past her shoulders, but her skin was pale and her eyes almost more green than brown – and while her face wasn't classically beautiful, it had a certain brazen, youthful quality that made her prettier than she actually was.

It took him a second to realize that he was staring at her, and that she was looking at him in amusement, loosely holding a cigarette.

"Miss McGonagall." he then said, brusquely.

"Why don't you have a seat?"

She obeyed, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"Would you by any chance have a match?"

"A match?"

He frowned.

"Miss McGonagall, who are you?"

What he really wanted to ask was, of course, whether she was a Muggle – but then, with his past, that didn't seem like the wisest course of action, painfully aware as he was of Augustus' ever-meddling presence in the back of the room. He cleared his throat.

"Augustus, before I forget – didn't you have an errand to do?"

The young man disappeared noiselessly; and Dumbledore found himself breathing a little more freely – yet to his irritation, Minerva McGonagall's only visible emotion was, still, mild amusement.

"Miss - "

"You want to know whether I'm a Muggle, don't you?"

He found it hard to deny that question. There was nothing about her that hinted at the slightest magical ability – not even her clothes, which were fashionably Muggle; a jacket and a flared skirt, both made of the same, simple fabric. If she was carrying a wand, it was well-hidden.

She smiled again.

"I'm not, though I've been living among them for almost two years now. Got properly sick of the wizarding world last October, and what of it? Muggle life's got its charms."

The young woman was still holding out the cigarette in expectation and, finally giving in, Dumbledore found himself lighting it with the tip of his wand. She thanked him with a nod and brought it to her lips, obviously considering her explanation sufficient.

"I'm sure it does, but that doesn't explain what you're doing here. You don't look stupid; you must have some sort of purpose that didn't involve having that cigarette lit for you."

"Oh, I do."

Her eyes lost their spark of amusement for just a moment, and she bowed over towards him.

"Let's not go into the how and why, but I know you're going to go find Grindelwald soon, and I'm going with you."

"Why?"

She smiled a little, then turned serious again.

"Not a man to keep to the rules then? Good – people who do make me nervous. I'll tell you why. Last October, when I permanently left the wizarding world behind, my mother, who was a witch, was killed by some people who thought they'd try to enforce Grindelwald's ideas here, too. Her only crime was that she married a Muggle."

Minerva McGonagall looked the wizard in the eye, wryly.

"You think I'm devoid of all principle, but that got me properly sore. It was always mum and me, and someone's going to pay the price for what happened to her."

She smiled.

"There, you know why. Now, Mister, when do we leave?"


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter T****wo**

Dumbledore, however, found back his ability to speak before the young woman could get up and leave, and with a sigh, he leaned both hands on his desk.

"Miss, that's all very tragic and I'm sorry for your loss, but you can't expect for half a second that I'd actually take you with me. You're what – twenty?"

"Twenty-one."

"What's the difference?"

Minerva laughed a little scornfully, taking another puff of her cigarette in the process.

"There is one, take that from me."

"Even if there is, you're terribly young and as far as I know you're not a qualified Auror, either. You don't know what you're getting into, Miss."

She chuckled.

"Please, stop Missing me, Mister - I'm not used to it. Call me Min, if you like. It's what I usually go by."

Albus Dumbledore felt the distinct urge to bang his head against the desk.

"Minerva," he then said, ignoring her.

"You don't know what you're doing. I can't possibly allow you -"

"You – what, you think it's your duty to _protect _me?"

The young woman laughed – it wasn't a very agreeable laugh.

"Do you have any idea – but no, you don't, do you? I have lived on my own for two years. I've earned my own living – in bits and pieces, because if you think the Muggle secret service pays well, you can think again – and on top of that, I've been in occupied France twice during the past year… as a Muggle. I think I've pretty much seen it all, really."

"You were in the secret service?"

Albus immediately knew it had been the wrong thing to say - he had allowed himself to be distracted for just a moment, and she, clever as she obviously was, would take advantage of it.

She smiled.

"You bet I was. Started working there as a part of my Auror training – undercover work, keeping an eye on the Muggles, things like that. When I quit the Auror stuff, about two years in, I stayed on. I figured it was some kind of way to make a living, and by then I'd become valuable to the Muggle war authorities, too valuable to let me starve at any rate, and I didn't, though it was a close run sometimes. Anyway – I turned myself completely Muggle, and when they needed some women spies in France a few months ago, I volunteered, and seeing how I'm pretty much physically fit, neither stupid nor a bad looker and fluent in French, I got accepted. End of story, beginning of life, so to speak."

The young witch shrugged as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs.

"Didn't have a bad time at it, actually. Some risks involved, obviously, but then I've never been scared of those."

"Gryffindor." Dumbledore found himself guessing, and Minerva smiled appreciatively.

"Right on, Mister. Anyway, you can see that I'm not some kind of windswept virgin fresh out of her ivory tower in the Scottish highlands. I can fend for myself; I've done it."

The wizard sighed. He didn't know this strange girl with her Muggle clothes and her cigarette and her attitude, he didn't know her at all, really, but it was hard to mistake the look in her eyes for anything but determination.

And suddenly, he'd had enough.

"Miss McGonagall, you must be out of your mind. What you say is completely impossible and what's more, you know it. You're wasting my time and yours…"

Minerva smiled.

"Oh, don't you worry about me, pal – I quit work yesterday."

"You quit work?"

His shock seemed to amuse her, because her smile grew broader, and she tapped her hand on the desk casually, spilling ashes on the expensive wood.

Dumbledore sighed as he conjured up an ashtray. She ignored the gesture.

"I did – had gotten a bit bored with it anyway, to be frank. They had the Invasion in June, after all, and even though they're still a bit fussy and all that, they'll win the war if they play a clever game – and if they don't, they're complete idiots and I don't think I want to work for those."

The girl shrugged.

"And before you ask, I've got plenty of stuff – the clothes I'm wearing, for example, and a cloak, half a bread and some butter… oh, and a landlady who's getting more and more unpleasant with every passing day. On top of that, I even have a knut or two, maybe even more – what _are_ you talking about, Mister Dumbledore, I'm positively a lady, well-to-do as I am!"

"If you intend to make me pity you, I won't."

"I don't."

"Strange thing is that I even believe you."

For a moment, Minerva smiled, then leaned her arms on the desk and looked him in the eye.

"So what about it? Shall we go for a ride, Mister Dumbledore? Miss and Mister Misfit, on tour?"

"Speak for yourself, please. You may find it funny, trying your hardest not to fit in, but I - "

She interrupted him, a nasty habit she seemed to have picked up.

"Seriously, Dumbledore, you can't possibly think… Listen – whatever they may say, they don't trust you."

"No, that's probably why I'm in the Ministry here, working on the most important - "

She was, however, completely serious now, and not to be stopped. Articulating clearly, the young witch went on.

"You're the son of a man who's well known to have been a Muggle-hater – no, I don't want to know whether that's true or not, spare me the excuses, the lies, the truth for all I care – and I, well, I'm a half-trained Auror dropout who is generally known as talented, but unreliable. And although _you_ probably think you're all high and mighty and far above me, surprise surprise, you aren't. Not in their eyes."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, not quite knowing what to reply. In a way, she had voiced his own doubts, even those he liked to keep hidden for himself like for everyone else.

In a way, she'd also gone too far.

When her lips folded into a small, triumphant smirk, his ability to speak returned.

"You're the rudest girl I ever met, and you are leaving right now."

"Make me."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Neither of them stirred.

In a way, Albus had to admire the girl's courage – her courage or, so he corrected himself, her foolhardiness. Did she even realize, he wondered, how high the stakes were for her? He could easily have her arrested, but even if he didn't, if he sent her away – which he most certainly would! – did she have any place to go?

As if she'd read his mind, Minerva smiled.

"No, I don't – so if you're clever, pal, you realize that I really won't let myself be chucked out by the elbow just like that. You can throw me out, but I'll be back and back again and in the end you'll _beg_ me to come along."

Albus had the distinct feeling that hers weren't empty threats and felt a splitting headache coming up. This was getting to be a long, long day.

He rose to his feet

"I'm sorry, Miss," he then started, formally.

"You must have realized the hopelessness of your self-imposed little mission as you came here. I can't help you."

"Self-imposed little mission?"

For the first time, Albus read anger in her green eyes – _more of a little cat than I thought, then! _– but it faded remarkably quickly, and when she, too, rose to her feet, her face was composed again.

_Been through a lot then, have you?_

"Alright, Mister, I'll see you tomorrow, then – do take your time to think it over, I'd say. No – no need to throw me out by force just yet; we'll have plenty of time for that tomorrow."

She smiled and waved as she opened the door.

"Au revoir!"

"Goodbye - " was all Albus could utter before she was gone.

He stood stunned for a few seconds, then rushed forward and opened the door again. She, Minerva, was long gone, of course, but Augustus Robinson's ridiculously rosy face shone with badly-hidden curiosity.

"Augustus, you – wait."

Albus turned around and then, from one of his desk drawers, took a small, but seemingly well-filled leather bag and handed it to his aide.

"Run after the girl who just left here – she can't be far yet – and give her this. Tell her not to bother with thanks, just tell her to disappear from my life. Clear? Go!"

Augustus did not go, however. He looked properly shocked.

"Sir – this is money…"

"Strange as it may seem, Robinson," Albus replied drily.

"I realize that. I got it from Gringotts this morning, to buy – but that doesn't matter now. Run, you fool – see that you find her!"

Augustus, after one last, uncertain look in his boss's direction, scampered off.

Albus watched his aide disappear, then groaned and fell back onto his chair, popping a lemon drop into his mouth in the process. It was a habit he'd picked up as a child and, silly as it might seem, he still maintained it helped him to think more clearly.

She'd take the money, he knew – she was that kind of girl – and part of him regretted it. Sure, he was glad he wouldn't have to face her again, but he also realized that one day, she must have been quite a promising young witch – in a way she still was – and, through the circumstances, she'd thrown all that away.

It was a sad case, and he hoped she would use the money in an intelligent way.

Somehow, Albus doubted it – but then again, she really wasn't his responsibility.

This thought cheered him up considerably, and the wizard was just beginning to return to his usual research when, after an uncharacteristically casual known on the door, Augustus blundered into the office again. The young man was panting, and his usually rather pale face was a decidedly unhealthy shade of red.

"I – found – her - "

"Why Robinson, I am positively ecstatic. Now do try not to die right here – it'd be sort of embarrassing to me, and I can live without that." was Albus' dry reply.

Augustus clearly didn't grasp the sarcasm and nodded, grabbing his side.

"I shan't, Sir – but that girl – she's an Animagus, Sir, a tabby cat, and she's – most certainly no lady, Sir – not at all."

His righteous indignation once more amused Albus, and the wizard smirked.

"Oh no, not at all, not in the slightest – Miss McGonagall is first, last and always not a lady. She's twenty-two, alone in the world, penniless and willing to risk her life for our cause, but when it comes to being a lady…"

Once again, Augustus merely seemed pleased at his sudden, supposedly good understanding with his employer – and said employer heaved a sigh.

Minerva McGonagall had spoken a surprising truth when she had told him that in a way, their situations were very similar – yet he, too, just like Robinson, had immediately dismissed her as "not a lady", "not one of ours". He hadn't thought about it in so many words, but that's what it had boiled down to.

Perhaps it was just a devilish, lowly urge to annoy the very proper Mr Augustus Robinson, but Albus suddenly felt more sympathy towards his young visitor.

He shook his head, dismissed the younger wizard with a wave of his hand, and then, finally, went on with his work.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"You!"

Minerva McGonagall laughed, then, with a casual gesture, threw her hat down on the desk and fell down on the chair again. 

"Me, and - "

She rummaged around in her small purse and produced a matchbox and some cigarettes.

"I even brought my own weapons this time. Want one?"

Albus frowned.

"Sure. Care to tell me what exactly your game's about?"

The young witch lit up, leaned back and inhaled deeply, then shrugged one shoulder.

"I don't know what you mean, Mister. I told you what I wanted yesterday. I still want it."

"I gave you - "

"Money?"

She smiled and shook her head, taking, from her purse, a leather bag Albus was all too familiar with.

"Here it is – every Galleon, every Sickle, every Knut."

"You didn't - "

Her smile disappeared.

"No, I didn't take it and run. I'll even – do you want more? Do you?"

Her hand came out of the purse again, well-filled with Muggle pound notes and coins of all kinds. She put them down, then, as he didn't react, held out the roll of notes.

"Here. Can you use this?"

"I thought you said you were broke?"

He studied her face for a second – she merely stared back. He smiled, failing to mask the cynicism in his voice.

"You're good – you're awfully good. 'I've even got a Knut or two, Mister, maybe more.'."

Not touching the money, the wizard leaned back in his chair.

"Keep your - "

"You're a bastard."

There was nothing light, nothing of amusement in her voice as Minerva jumped up from her chair.

"You're - "

Reaching for the nearest object, it was a glass paperweight she sent flying towards the wizard. He caught it with one hand, then, raising his eyebrows, put it back on the desk. She looked liable to spit him in the face any second but did not make another move.

"You think I lied about this, don't you? Well, it just happens there's ten-something pounds there, over half of it fake, and the coins won't exactly save a life either. Not enough for boat fare home or any other kind of fare – just enough to be able to say no if I feel like it. And you can have it if you want it."

"I don't."

"Fine."

She stuffed the bills back into her purse, then, with both hands, threw the coins in again, too. Dumbledore found himself watching her, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Why're you so mad?"

She looked up, her dark, thin eyebrows knit closely together.

"I've been mad ever since I met you."

He smiled and made an apologetic gesture.

"Most people are."

"One look and you made up your mind just what you wanted to think about me."

"You claiming I got it wrong?"

The wizard could literally see honesty and indignation fight an epic battle in her eyes. Honesty won. She smiled and bowed her head.

"Touché, Mister. I don't know if you did."

She crossed her legs and lit up again.

"Don't know if you didn't, either. But I'm not a bad kid, despite your little assistant seeming to think I might bite him and he'd catch rabies. You should've seen his face when he gave me that money yesterday."

Albus smirked.

"I believe I can imagine."

Then, after a long moment, he cleared his throat and, finally, lit up the cigarette she'd offered to him.

"So, Miss, fancy coming along with me to Germany?" he asked, almost casually.

She grinned.

"Thought you'd never ask."

Albus shrugged. She hadn't shown surprise, but he hadn't thought she would – her outburst of emotion were, though fierce, scarce as well.

"I thought the very same thing." was his honest reply.

She nodded her head and chortled.

"Why did you, then?"

He grinned.

"If you want to know - you owe this one to my aide."

She raised her eyebrows, absent-mindedly scattering her cigarette's ashes neatly next to the ashtray. He didn't notice.

"The assistant kid? I thought he didn't like me much."

"He didn't."

Minerva grinned.

"I see."

"Fancy a drink?"

He didn't know where his sudden cordiality came from, really. In a way, she still irritated him as she sat there, legs crossed, leaning back sideways in her chair with an air as if she owned the place and his own sorry life on top of it. She was pushy and stubborn and, most of all, she was not a young woman he would usually want to be associated with.

Half of him began to regret his rash decision, and when she, having accepted his offer wholeheartedly, emptied her double Firewhiskey in one go, Albus Dumbledore realized that, if nothing else, he was up for an interesting time.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"Frankly, I think our backstory's a joke."

Dumbledore looked up from the map he'd been studying. Minerva was sitting on the bed, legs crossed at the ankles. A cigarette was dangling from the fingers of her left hand, and he winced.

"Do try not to burn a hole in the sheets or set the room on fire. We are trying to be inconspicuous."

"I still think it's crap." was her only comment as she swung her legs off the side of the bed to face him.

"Seriously, Mister, have you even - and we're not even in Nazi territory yet. I'd say thank God Paris fell in time, or we'd be…"

"It's not the Nazis we want to fight. Our Muggle colleagues seem to be taking care of those just fine, we need to - "

"Yeah," she replied sarcastically, leaning back against the wall again.

"You can tell them that when they're breaking your fingers one by one. They'll patch you right up and send you off with a pat on the back."

She took a sip from the half-empty glass on the bedside table.

"A real pro, aren't you?"

Her little chuckle didn't escape his ears, and he threw down the maps in irritation.

They'd been practically stuck in the hotel room since the previous evening – which, he kept reminding himself, was really not that long altogether – but already it'd become painfully clear that they were irrevocably incompatible.

_Or, perhaps, too alike._

He shook off the thought as soon as he'd properly realized it was there. Despite what she had said on her first visit to his office – it felt like ages ago, really, but it wasn't – he didn't believe that, apart from a general feeling of being sick of the world, there was anything the two of them could possibly have in common.

And on top of all that, she annoyed him. He turned on his chair.

"Seriously, McGonagall, you really do believe you've seen and heard it all, don't you? I can just tell you - "

She appeared unperturbed and shrugged.

"I don't. Just don't believe you have, either. I've been here before, Dumbles. You haven't."

He ignored her blatant use of a nickname the birth of which he had certainly never encouraged.

"You were here as a _Muggle_."

"Oh?"

Her eyebrows went up again in an expression of amusement he'd come to regard with exasperation.

"Now aren't we glad the _Prophet_ doesn't exactly lurk 'round the corners here! Someone'd have a scoop on their hands, that's for sure."

He felt the blood rush to his cheeks and rose from his chair.

"I warn you…"

His voice was lower than usual, holding a clear tone of warning.. She merely laughed.

"Calm down already. I just meant, Mister, that you shouldn't talk of Muggles that way, and I'm not just talking about your, let's face it, crappy reputation in that respect. They're quite inventive – they must be, if you think about it – and those Nazi kids, I tell you, for all their warped ideas, they've got some bright crayons there. Ditto for our side of the conflict, really."

She shook her head, blowing some smoke in his direction.

"Muggles – not to be underestimated, that's for sure. Plus they've invented the cigarette. Got to count for something, that."

She raised hers to her eyes for a second and studied it, a small smile on her lips.

"These really are pretty amazing."

He rolled his eyes and turned away again, bowing over the parchment once more.

"You'll have us gassed if you keep it up like this. That, or you'll drink yourself to death."

He could almost feel her smile.

"Better death than most, some say."

"Wouldn't want to try it." was his only response.

He was trying to decide which way they would take to their final goal, and it wasn't easy. While he had, naturally, been doing the proper geographical research back in London, Albus realized, now, that most of that research had been completely useless. The Muggle war had almost come to an end, it was true – but it certainly wasn't over yet, and the borders still changed every day.

He checked his pocket watch.

"Still over an hour left, I'm betting you. You checked less than ten minutes ago. Plenty of time."

With a pang of irritation, Albus realized she was right. The radio broadcast that would give them the newest reports on the progress of the war was at seven – it was just ten to six.

"An hour and ten minutes, to be precise."

"Told you – and say, Mister…"

"Yes?"

His tone of voice was not encouraging, he knew. He didn't care.

Neither, apparently, did she.

"So why're you so snappish when it comes to Muggles – come to think of it why d'you have this bad rep anyway? I've heard the gossip, of course, but you know what they say, never believe - "

"Could you just shut up for a second?"

She would never rest before she got the full story, he knew, and he loathed it. He also didn't plan to give her what she wanted.

"I don't like your manners."

It was the way she said it that drove him over the edge. He rose to his feet.

"Well, I'm not crazy about yours, either. I didn't ask you to come here."

She opened her mouth to reply, but he was faster.

"I don't mind if you don't like my manners, I don't like them myself, they're pretty bad and I grieve over them long winter evenings, and I don't mind you insulting me and I don't mind you drinking your lunch out of a bottle - but don't waste your time trying to cross-examine me!"

Minerva looked up at him, unsmiling now. She, too, jumped to her feet, putting down her half-empty glass with a clear thud.

"People don't talk to me like that!"


End file.
